


Wild-eyed Child of the Sun

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: The Bournshire Boys [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bullying, Chantry Boys, gang rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-24 01:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7488189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair confronts the nobles, with Cullen's help. Then he confronts the poor kids, without it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ten times removed  
> I forget about where it all began  
> Bastard son of a bastard son of  
> A wild eyed child of the sun  
> \- To Forgive, Smashing Pumpkins
> 
>  
> 
> 9:24 Dragon  
> Alistair and Cullen are about 14 and 13 years old, respectively. Their classmates are in the same general age range. 
> 
> Alistair and Cullen become roommates in Welcome to Bournshire: Ch 1, because of course they do. Leolin is introduced in Welcome to Bournshire: Ch 3-Socks. Cullen's position on bullying is dictated to him by Mia in Chasing Pigeons. Both of these works are also in the Bournshire Boys series. 
> 
> This is how Cullen learns Alistair is a bastard. (The fatherless kind.)
> 
> This fic also gives me a good place to describe the boys on each side of this internal power struggle. Cullen, at least, very much sees this struggle as good vs. evil.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alistair was almost having a good day. He didn’t need this. 'I told you, Leolin, that’s not my name.'
> 
> "Leolin’s prodigious eyebrows shot toward his dark hairline. Alistair tired of these steps, but he couldn’t stop. His opponent could charm any of the Sisters. That charm was never directed at smaller recruits. Alistair felt his antagonist’s long, thin nose could use a break. Maybe three."
> 
> Spoiler: Cullen cuts in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea is based on Cullen's comment in Inquisition about fellow recruits: "We learned to look out for one another." What were they looking out against? 
> 
> Alistair is involved because of this comment: "The initiates from poor families thought I put on airs, while the ones from noble families called me a bastard and ignored me." Not a lot of abuse victims like to talk about past abuse, so I took a little artistic liberty that probably doesn't actually break canon.

Alistair was almost having a good day. He didn’t need this. “I told you, Leolin, that’s not my name.”

 

Leolin’s prodigious eyebrows shot toward his dark hairline. Alistair tired of these steps, but he couldn’t stop. His opponent could charm any of the Sisters. That charm was never directed at smaller recruits. Alistair felt his antagonist’s long, thin nose could use a break. Maybe three.

 

They were standing in the hall halfway between their classroom and the stairs. The route turned here, and a couple of pillars marked where the ceiling vaulted into the main sanctuary. The templar recruits would be heading down the stairs five paces away to descend to the main floor, then through the back Chantry door to the dining hall.

 

The nobles’ Chantry-abandoned sons got into position around Alistair: Cabhan behind him, Rian between Alistair and the stairs on the right, Padraig to his left in front of closed doors of unoccupied classrooms. Leolin was still in front of Alistair, boxing him in loosely.  

 

Cabhan stretched and popped his arms behind Alistair, dark skin sliding under the sleeves of the light-yellow uniform tunic. Same uniform – same team, Alistair wished. Cabhan had never hit him: he had another role in this dance. Better to watch the others.

 

Padraig ran a hand over his short hair, tracing precise lines with his thumb where the hair met his russet skin. Then he clenched the hand and released it. When he first joined this crew, Padraig’s pained look gave Alistair hope for mercy. Now he knew better: Padraig hit harder, sharper than any of them.

 

Rian could smile with charm to match Leolin. The smile was feral and unkind for Alistair. He shared a lot of features with Padraig but kept his hair longer. Both he and Leolin were good at controlling their faces – and playing Alistair; those two could talk their crew out of any situation. Anything Alistair said or did made it worse.

 

Caught in the middle, Alistair sighed. “Right, I’m Alice the Bastard, whatever. Can we skip to the end?”

 

Leolin still led this crew. “The end where you’re bleeding on the ground?”

 

 _Is that his blood? Gotta stand. Damn legs-steady! Steady! Collapse._ “No, thanks.” Alistair kept his voice from shaking, watched for an opening.

 

“You’re right. We can’t skip steps, bastard son of a bastard son.”

 

Leolin was insulting kings who fought Orlesian rule and won. Instead of telling him, Alistair of Redcliff shot for escape; Rian pushed him into Cabhan. Practiced arms slipped in front of Alistair’s shoulders from behind. Again. Alistair wondered when weapons training would include breaking out of holds. Or were mages never this cheap? “See, this is the part I wanted to skip,” Alistair complained, heaving his useless arms. Could he lift his feet? What would it get him? Rian grabbed his short red hair. Pain – don’t yell – pulling, moving – panic: not stairs, not falling – stopped, head free – classroom doors closer now – relief. Alistair had no desire to find out what falling down stairs felt like. Instead, they’d moved out of foot traffic. Recruits walked by, seeing without watching. Might as well skip to the end. Alistair slumped, then lifted his head again. Might as well earn it. “I don’t know, Leolin-”

 

“What is going on here?” Cullen cut between Cabhan and Rian in the loose circle. The idiot was gonna get drawn in. More people hurt. Alistair wished he still roomed alone. It gets worse – Cullen’s friends.

 

No one was smiling. “Hey, guys,” Alistair croaked, approximating a salute with what limited movement Cabhan allowed.

 

Usually, Drystan’s pure white smile contrasted against his midnight skin, but now he was doing quick stretches as he stepped behind Cullen, closer to Cabhan than Rian.

 

A sneer on Farris’ flaxen face covered his quick smile and sharp laugh. A month ago, he cut his clerkly hair to a thick layer of dark fuzz and announced his dedication to the templar path: not opposed to the fighting, then. He circled the pillars to stand at the back between Rian and Leolin.

 

Sieffre’s usual smile … was more understated. He tended to blend: his reddish brown hair, skin, and eyes were from the same palette as the uniform: autumn fire. Alistair knew his expression now was deceptively angelic. Three years ago, Sieffre scrapped with an older boy twice his size and backed him down. Now he hovered to the left between Alistair and Padraig, and Alistair was glad he was on his side. Wait, why was Sieffre on Alistair’s side?

 

“Rutherford. Don’t get involved.” Leolin’s tone fed Alistair’s doubt. He was helpless; no one else was invested in this fight. Why should they be?

 

“Cullen,” Alistair said, temper rising, “get out of here.”

 

“Shut up, ramhorn,” Drystan advised. Cabhan snorted.

 

Ignoring them, Cullen started with a growl in his voice: “Lay off, Leolin.” If Alistair weren’t getting mad, he could have admired the taunting sing-song used next. “You can’t kick the crap out of someone just because you’re feeling blue.” Why did Alistair picture Leolin in a blue bonnet?

 

“Naw, Rutherford,” Leolin faked a horrible hick accent, forcing a comparison between the two recruits’ backgrounds. He flourished beyond Cullen at Alistair. “I kick the crap out of this bastard on a regular schedule. Every third Thursday, isn’t it, Alice?”

 

Alistair huffed a laugh. “If you need to get the eyebrows waxed today-” Leolin ended the offer with a wide-swinging fist – shooting gut pain – curling over, levered up by shoulders – can’t breathe, can’t breathe – gasping – mortified.

 

“You need to control what you say, little bastard-”

 

Cullen’s elbow, shoulder, body wedged too close for Leolin’s grandiose style.

 

Cabhan pulled Alistair back two steps, flinched. “Watch it,” Drystan growled. Had Cabhan run him over, or had Drystan elbowed Cabhan?

 

No one watched Alistair gasp like a fish. Gratitude.

 

Cullen sized up the larger boy, crowding not touching him. He turned his back, brave or stupid, and faced Alistair. Then again, Drystan, Sieffre, and Farris continued staring Leolin down: all invested. Is this worse, or should Alistair be trying to remember which morning Canticle he’d sung?

 

Cabhan couldn’t do anything else while pinning Alistair, leaving only Rian and Padraig for backup. Cullen was acting as if he could take Leolin. Three against four, Cullen’s favor.

 

Alistair finished the math as his roommate addressed the boy behind him. “We’re done here, Cabhan. Let him go.” The arms bracing his shoulders slackened. Alistair yanked; it wasn’t enough.

 

What did Leolin see? “I think we’ve accomplished our goal this Thursday.” He sneered. “Let the bastard go.”

 

Cabhan released Alistair. He stumbled on his feet: his gut wasn’t too bad; his arms went back to doing arm things. Like hanging – and balancing.

 

Cullen turned back. “No.”

 

Alistair blinked. “Cullen, stop, you’re ahead.”

 

“Not yet, I’m not. The Thursday special ends now.”

 

Crap, crap, shit they would all soon be bloodied and in the Revered Mother’s office. Sieffre got tense and shifted his eyes to Padraig, Drystan hopped a bit as he faced Cabhan, and Farris’ grin was back, every bit as feral as Rian’s. Shit. Alistair shrugged his shoulders back, not wanting Cullen to take his beating. Time for swinging – and defending.

 

Leolin didn’t miss the movements, but he focused on Alistair. “Don’t worry, little bastard, Rian has a girl he’s seeing this afternoon. We’ll discuss this later, Rutherford.” Alistair relaxed, but Cullen’s friends tensed a bit more.

 

“Stop calling him a bastard,” Cullen gritted around a clenched jaw.

 

Of all the places to draw the line. “Um, Cullen?” Had he even drawn one? He kept pushing, seeing how far Leolin would retreat. Did he want a fight? _Everything fast, everything close, flying limbs, cause pain or take pain…_

 

Cullen didn’t turn around. “You’ve gone too far here, and you’ll answer for all of it.”

 

“Cullen, I’m good to go. No one’s a bloody mess.” Alistair’s ears were already ringing. “Drop it,” he begged.

 

“Well, I’m not ‘good to go.’ I will not have them saying – what? You don’t know your father?” Cullen spun back to Alistair, who assumed his face was glass, all the stored pain from Cullen bragging about family shining through. Cullen’s face morphed through three stages, one-two-three: 1) He twitched his head sideways, brows drawing down and together, forehead sprouting wrinkles. 2) His eyes widened, skin pulled smooth, chin tucked, head pulling back. 3) The heads of his eyebrows raced upwards, his mouth falling ajar. His shoulders fell.

 

“I’m an idiot,” Cullen confessed. He clomped through empty hall to the top of the stairs, then back to shake a finger at Leolin. “And his name is Alistair!”

 

Leolin and his cronies hooted as Cullen stormed down the Chantry stairs, Alistair and the rest in his wake. Everyone was in their respective pieces. No one was bleeding or even bruised.

 

Thank the Maker.

 


	2. Perfectly Reasonable Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair "puts on airs" and teenagers treat each other unfairly. In their own minds, they’re all being perfectly reasonable. Arguments ensue. Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Young Cullen and Alistair don’t hate each other, but they don’t like each other, either. Their mutual feelings range from intense annoyance to mild dislike, mixed with enough admiration that they still want to be friends.

They went into the mess hall together, but Alistair slid further and further to the edges of the group. By the time they were through the line, he’d built enough distance that no one commented when he sat in his usual isolated corner, back to the wall. Alistair wondered whether anyone even noticed.

 

After eating and talking for a while, Cullen shooed his friends away. Alistair debated, decided, got seconds, and sat next to his roommate. “Listen, I just wanted to say: thank you for helping with Leolin.” Alistair was still amazed no one had gotten hurt. Well, relatively speaking.

 

Cullen raised his eyes. “Ah, you exist.”

 

Alistair grinned. “That’s right, I exist! I’m all… existential.”

 

Cullen’s eyebrow crept higher.

 

“Okay, that one got away from me.” Alistair shoved steamed turnip greens into his mouth.

 

“Alistair, why don’t you eat with us?”

 

Panic fluttered in his chest. “I eat. I’m eating.” Alistair chewed vigorously, swallowed, and started a new bite to support his point.

 

“It’s just me. Try joining us.”

 

Alistair set his fork on the table. “Cullen, I don’t people well… I tried, years ago. It didn’t work. Today, they surprised me when they joined you against Leolin. They’ve walked right on by before.”

 

Cullen sighed. “When you didn’t join us, we talked. They think you’re trying to put yourself above us.”

 

Alistair’s worldview twisted on itself. “Me?! I’m not above anyone, I just-” Jokes failed him and he finished in a small, protesting voice: “They don’t like me.”

 

Cullen was firm. “They don’t know you. Isolation won’t help. Friendships could prevent Leolin’s bullying. Join us at dinner. You might be surprised.”

 

Alistair hated going where he didn’t belong. But they stood up for him. He picked up his fork. “I’ll sit with you at dinner, if you save a spot for me.” Alistair contemplated how much effort this would cost him. He scooped a glob of greens into his mouth, trying to find another topic of conversation.

 

Cullen smiled the first time since before class. “Good. You won’t regret it, I promise you.”

 

“I’m glad that’s settled, I need your help on a mystery.” Alistair chewed carefully.

 

“What’s the mystery?”

 

Alistair swallowed and grinned. “How does Chef Francine make turnip greens good, even without cheese?”

 

###

 

After the rest of the day’s classes, Alistair wandered the dining hall, pretending to search for Cullen and delaying the inevitable. He half-hoped Cullen hadn’t saved him a spot, but he was as good as his word.

 

Alistair slid into the seat without speaking. Drystan was telling a story about a farm dog who heroically saved a calf from a wolf. When Drystan was done, Alistair gave it a shot: “That reminds me of a time I was cleaning out my dog’s kennel. She threw the lever and locked me in!”

 

“What?” Drystan stared across the table at him with dark eyes, and the rest of them turned, smiles faltering.

 

Alistair wondered what he’d said. He was sharing a smart dog story. His mouth kept going. “Well it wasn’t my dog, it was my uncle’s, but she ran into the lever and closed the kennel. Dennet – that’s the stable hand – told me she didn’t do it on purpose, but she did.” Maker help him.

 

Sieffre was not the answer to Alistair’s silent prayer. “Who keeps their dog in a kennel?”

 

Alistair leaned around Cullen to reply. “Well, my uncle, I suppose.”

 

“Why not let it sleep inside, where it’s warm?” Sieffre sounded reasonable.

 

Alistair could still make this work. He had to explain. “It was warm in the stables, and if all his dogs slept with him, there’d be no room for his wife.” That was funny. Probably. “Not that Isolde allows even one dog in bed.”

 

Farris, next to Drystan, was gracious enough to point out his misstep. “What Ferelden doesn’t want a dog in her house?”

 

Alistair was at a loss. “An Orlesian one?”

 

“Wait – Isolde?” Doom opened under Alistair’s feet: Drystan knew of Isolde. “Aren’t you from Redcliff?”

 

“That Isolde?” Sieffre was indignant, and Alistair couldn’t blame him. He could, however, blame…

 

In his defense, Cullen didn’t understand. “What? Who’s Isolde?”

 

Alistair stomped down panic. Breathe.

 

Drystan was getting angry. “So you come in here, fancy as you please, and tell us this story – why? To impress us? Show how your so-called ‘uncle’ is the Arl of Redcliff?”

 

Cullen’s eyes widened as the revelation blindsided him. Alistair had to fix this. “I’m just telling a stupid story about a stupid dog!”

 

“Ha! Sounds smart.” At least Farris was laughing. “She locked you up, didn’t she?” Maybe laughing wasn’t always good.

 

“She was just – playful. She thought it was funny. You should have seen her face as she left…”

 

Drystan stood up, collecting his plate. “Leaving sounds good. Cullen, didn’t you want to get to Chant early?”

 

As they left, Cullen shot Alistair an expression: creased brow, thin mouth. He followed his friends, saying, “Alistair, a noble?”

 

###

 

Cullen made a case that Alistair hadn’t been showing off. His friends maintained the opposite case but didn’t convince him.

 

After Chant, Cullen found Alistair moping on his narrow bed in their narrow room. He took one step past the door before his roommate started. “That was a horrible idea.” Alistair was blaming _him_? Self-deluded – ugh – bastard!

 

Cullen kept cool. “You should have told me.”

 

“I tried!”

 

“You didn’t tell me you’re a noble!” Cullen crammed disdain into that word.

 

“Don’t lump me in with them! I am not them.” Alistair got up and strode past the parallel desks to the window, then turned. Cullen watched as his roommate gesticulated, paced back to the head of the beds, and added, “If you say it, it sounds normal! If I say it, it sounds boastful. I can’t tell anybody anything without appearing snobby! A dog story went wrong! I didn’t want to risk my last shot at friendship.”

 

“Alistair, we’re not friends.” Cullen remained calm and still. “Friends tell each other things. Even if it’s awkward or – whatever you do.”

 

“But it always goes wrong. Nobles ask me why I’m cleaning the kennels, and poor kids wonder why the dogs don’t sleep inside.”

 

Cullen felt a sting flushing his face. “What?” Had he defended this cretin?

 

“Well, you saw it.” The bastard flicked a hand toward the dining hall.

 

“Poor kids?” Cullen stepped further into their room.

 

“Uh, yes?” Alistair clearly did not understand anything about anything.

 

“My family is not poor.” Cullen seethed at the foot of their parallel beds, anger lapping at the too-close walls.

 

Alistair tried explaining, “No, but I meant –”

 

Cullen didn’t give him a chance to make it worse. “We didn’t have castles or-or war dogs or Orlesian cheese-” Cullen leaned into that last word, and Alistair flinched. “-but we had a-a roof, warmth, and food year-round. No – we had more! We had each other! We bickered sometimes and I can’t stand Branson when he – but we were family! That made us rich. And you will never understand that!”

 

Alistair threw his arms wide, gesturing as he spoke. “And I’m jealous of you for it! You have a father and a mother and a brother and two sisters. I hear your stories and your family was so close! How could you give up family? On purpose!

 

“I had a distant uncle with a wife who thinks I’m his, evidence he cheated! She hates me and sent me here! My real father left me with Eamon and forgot me! I’m told to make friends my family, but no one can stand me, and I don’t even know what I’ve done!”

 

“You – you’re being a faded idiot!”

 

“Right! Tell me what I’m doing wrong, and I’ll fix it!”

 

“You can count on it!” A smile broke out on Cullen’s face. “Can we stop yelling!!”

 

“We should! We might annoy our neighbors!!” Alistair grinned back.

 

Cullen chuckled. Alistair joined him. They sat on their assigned bunks, laughter building until they were guffawing, tears streaming down their cheeks. They eked out a few words, only to trigger laughter again.

 

Farris appeared in their open doorway. “What is going on in here?” Cullen had no idea how to explain, but one glance at Alistair set him off again. Farris rolled his eyes and left.

 


End file.
